


A Suspension of the Senses

by FluffyBeaumont



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Loneliness, M/M, Makeup Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23047540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffyBeaumont/pseuds/FluffyBeaumont
Summary: Spock is taking part in an off-world symposium and the dirty weekend Bones had planned doesn't happen...so Bones takes a shuttle to their destination, thinking to spend the time alone and drunk, except something unexpected happens....
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Comments: 5
Kudos: 72





	A Suspension of the Senses

His eyes are tired, burning with fatigue, when the shuttlecraft finally enters the atmosphere of Begos Atoll. He has barely enough physical energy left to pilot it safely to its destination and when it is safely parked underneath the overhanging canopy of a tourist hotel, he stumbles out, feeling as if the body he pilots is no longer his own. The android attendant at the reception desk takes the credit chit he passes it, scans it, gives him a keycard to the room he has reserved well in advance of this excursion, and directs him to the turbolift just beyond the main desk. He steps inside, shouldering the one piece of luggage he carries with him, and presses the button for the 74th floor. The elevator shoots him up and up, blasting him into the sky. It’s a surprise when he steps out onto a normal, carpeted hallway, dimly-lit in blue, the kind of low lights that march along the corridor at ankle height, illuminating nothing much. But it’s enough to find his way to the door of his suite, to slip the keycard in the appropriate slot and let himself in.

He wasn’t expecting much, but the room is beautiful and well-appointed, with a view of the twin moons and the near satellite of Tehris IV, hanging in the evening sky like a purple globe of purest glass. He throws his holdall on the bed and looks around him. The bourbon he requested is resting on the bar, alongside a pair of heavy Y’ridian glass tumblers and a bucket of ice. He delves into the ice bucket, drops two perfect spheres of crystalline water into one of the tumblers, dumps four fingers of fine Kentucky bourbon in. It’s the ultimate anaesthetic for what he wants, the easiest and quickest way to kill the pain, and he takes it willingly. He grimaces as the bourbon burns his throat, but savours the warm pool it makes in the bottom of his belly. He pours another and downs it, before walking into the bathroom and stripping naked in the concentrated silence that characterizes everything he does these days.

He is utterly alone. If matters had gone as he’d expected he’d most likely be clasped in the arms of his beloved now, pressing kisses to that perfect face, that gorgeous mouth, watching as upswelling ecstasy shattered the façade of absolute control his lover so prides himself on. _I am not an emotional creature, doctor. You must understand. Emotion is anathema to me._

Not entirely true, of course, but he’ll allow his erstwhile lover his delusions. He’s back there somewhere, on Starbase 22, attending a symposium on a proposed new boundary to the Neutral Zone, being as all-fired logical and brilliant as he pretends to be, while he – Leonard McCoy – is cooling his heels on this backwater planet, getting drunk on knockoff bourbon and pretending to enjoy himself.

This was supposed to be for both of them, a time away from their usual responsibilities, a period of surcease away from the _Enterprise_ , when they could shrug off their habitual roles and be so much more free with each other…free to enjoy the opportunities a place like Indri VII offered, to indulge as they saw fit, to make love until the early hours of the morning in a place with an altogether different sense of propriety.

But Spock isn’t here, and Leonard McCoy – Doctor Leonard McCoy, thank you very much; he didn’t spend all those years in medical school to be called Mister – is here alone, all alone. He started drinking on the transport from Starbase 22 and continued on the shuttle, which thankfully had a genius autopilot system so he could drink himself into oblivion. It’s not very, very late according to the local time and he is so drunk—

He is _so_ drunk.

He manages to start the shower without scalding himself to death, and stands underneath it, letting the commingled hot water and carefully-calibrated sonics pound the taut muscles of his neck and shoulders. He stays under the jets for twenty minutes, then steps out, drying himself roughly with a towel, before going through to the bedroom. From the window he can see the landing lights of several approaching shuttles, other couples who had booked space here, hoping to spend a romantic weekend with someone they loved, and he smiled bitterly. Spock should be here. This should be different. They ought to be in bed by now, wrapped around each other, making love. But that isn't going to happen, now, is it?

McCoy draws back the covers and slips naked between the sheets, groaning aloud as the cool, fresh cotton caresses his naked skin. He sighs, feeling the bourbon as it throbs through him, warming him, making him sleepy and pliant. _You should be here with me,_ he thinks, but it isn't any use. Spock is light-years away, and he is entirely alone. He falls into a drunken sleep, his imagination filled with passionate mental images, things he wishes he were doing to Spock, and Spock to him.

He comes to himself sometime later, the room in absolute darkness, and there are hands on his body, hands caressing him, and an eager mouth kissing him, and another body wrapped around him. A figure looms over him, rising above him, and he is there, Spock—

”You…the symposium…you said…”

”I could not in good conscience stay away from you.”

He lies back, opening his body to his lover, drawing Spock down on top of him and kissing him. “I’m glad.”

”I came as soon as I could.”

”Not soon enough,” Leonard grouses, feeling hard done by.

”Shall I make it up to you?” Spock’s breath is warm at his ear, Spock’s mouth pressing heat into his neck and shoulders.

 _Yes,_ he thought, but he no longer has the strength to speak aloud, because Spock’s hands and mouth are on his body, and Spock is loving him, drawing him closer and closer to the moment when he will shatter absolutely, torn in pieces and crying his completion to the warm night air.


End file.
